


In Dreams

by sonictrowel



Series: Long Night in the Blue House [55]
Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who & Related Fandoms, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Porn with Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-21
Updated: 2017-06-21
Packaged: 2018-11-17 01:14:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11264901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonictrowel/pseuds/sonictrowel
Summary: It was one thing to understand, intellectually, that once their time was up they would have to part ways.  That if they didn’t, maybe none of this ever would’ve happened.  Maybe she and the Doctor never fell in love and their children would never be born.  Maybe she killed him, for good, without a second thought.  Maybe the universe ended, without them around to save it every bloody year.  She understood that they had no choice.But, goddamn it, who was going to make her?





	In Dreams

[Darillium]

The trouble with morning on a planet that took forty-eight years to complete a single rotation was this: it went on for an awfully long time.  Six or so months of twilight had been lovely in their giddy early days on Darillium, when life was full of promise, and they could pretend the end was a lifetime away.  But the creeping light of dawn made River feel sick to her stomach.  The sky was a slowly brightening omen hanging heavy over their lives, weighing them down with dread and a constant, terrifying question: _what if this is the last time?_

The last crayon drawing of the three of them plus Nardole and Vincent that she’d pin to the wall?  Or maybe the last that she’d hear the simultaneously endearing and maddening sound of Athena clumsily belting out that bloody song from _Frozen_ while the Doctor accompanied her on a ukulele he’d dug out of the back of the TARDIS.  Maybe it’d be the last time she’d style her daughter’s springy curls into two little puffs, like Milly used to wear, and watch them bouncing merrily as she skipped off to play.  Or the last time Athena would abruptly pass out cold, sprawled over both of their laps, after stampeding like mad around the house all afternoon.

It was one thing to understand, intellectually, that once their time was up they would have to part ways.  That if they didn’t, maybe none of this ever would’ve happened.  Maybe she and the Doctor never fell in love and their children would never be born.  Maybe she killed him, for good, without a second thought.  Maybe the universe ended, without them around to save it every bloody year.  She understood that they had no choice.

But, goddamn it, _who was going to make her?_  Everything in her screamed defiance, every cell in her body railed against the idea that she’d have to simply take this lying down.  River Song did not allow anyone or anything to lay a finger on the ones she loved.  Why couldn’t the tyranny of established time be something she could just shoot in the bloody face?  That was, always had been, the true villain of her life.  It was the tangle of time that stole away her parents, that made her husband slowly unlearn everything they’d ever shared right before her eyes.  She would really fucking love to shoot whatever was responsible for that right in the fucking face. 

It was a good job she’d put in the shooting range.  It helped a bit to blast the hell out of something after she’d been gripped with panic as they tucked Athena into bed, her mind chanting incessantly like some deranged parrot: _the last time last time last time?_

It wasn’t quite enough, though.  It was too much of a stretch of the imagination that her Sontaran-shaped targets could be responsible.  If it were a bunch of fucking potatoes trying to break up her family, this would’ve been over _very_ quickly.

If only it were that easy. 

She realised all at once that she had been firing her blaster into the same spot, right between the potato’s eyes, for what must have been quite a while.  There was a gaping hole there now, ringed with molten metal, and a great black scorch mark on the wall behind.  She stopped squeezing the trigger, but couldn’t quite bring herself to lower the gun, panting and trembling with adrenaline as she held her aim, as if the destroyed target might yet spring to life.

Her pulse was throbbing in her ears.  She took a few slow, shaky breaths, trying to convince her tightly-wound body that fight-or-flight was not actually the appropriate response to her thoughts.  Gradually, she was able to relax just enough that her senses expanded beyond her laser-focussed tunnel vision around the hapless target.  

“How long have you been there?” she panted, without turning her head.

“A little while,” the Doctor replied, low and quiet.  “Haven’t seen you like that in a long time, dear.”

He didn’t just mean since they’d begun playing domestic on Darillium.

“I know,” she said, between gasping breaths.  With a concentrated effort, she managed to drop her gun arm, her shoulders slumping as the ghost of her programming finally relinquished its choking grip.

She didn’t hear the Doctor cross the room, but before she knew it his arms were around her, holding her up as her legs turned to jelly.  Her heart pounded in her throat as she threw one nerveless arm around his shoulders and buried her face in the crook of his neck, desperately breathing him in.  He smelled just the same as he did so long ago, when he used to hold her like this after the madness took her over, utterly heedless of the danger she might pose to him as he kissed her face and whispered sweet nothings in her ear and soothed his big hands over her back.

“It’s okay,” the Doctor muttered, turning his head to place a kiss by her ear, “I’ve got you, sweetheart.”

River managed enough control of her limply hanging arm to switch on the safety on her blaster before carelessly tossing it aside.  It skittered across the floor and slid into some corner, forgotten for the moment.

“Want to come to bed?”

She nodded against his shoulder.

“Come on then, love,” the Doctor coaxed in that low voice, gruff but warm, that always made her heart flutter.  He pulled her along beside him, her arm still over his shoulders and his wrapped around her waist.

River felt utterly spent, exhausted in every possible way, when she collapsed heavily onto the bed.  It had been _so long_ since she’d gone into any sort of body flashback.  She’d thought she had been well and truly done with them for a century.  She’d forgotten how much it took out of her. 

The Doctor climbed in on his knees and tugged the covers from underneath her.  It’d have been polite to move and make it easier for him, but even that much was totally beyond her. 

He pulled off her boots, tossing them in the general direction of the wardrobe, and then shimmied down her trousers.

“Want to keep the shirt on?”

River gave a noncommittal moan, her eyes still shut.  She definitely did not have the mental energy to spare for what clothes she was going to sleep in.  A full suit of plate armour would have done, at the moment.

She felt the mattress shift, heard the springs creaking quietly, and then the rustle of fabric and the soft thump of clothing being tossed to the floor.  The glaring sunlamp light, which had been disturbing her even with her eyes closed, shuttered out with a click, and then the bed shifted again under the Doctor’s weight, and there was a _swish_ as he drew the bedsheets up over them.  Finally, he edged closer to her, their bodies fitting instinctually into place together.  River sighed in contentment as she pressed up against his bare skin and tucked her face into his shoulder.

“How do you feel?” he asked in a low-pitched whisper.

“Tired,” she managed to mumble.

“Want to sleep?”

“Mm,” she answered, vaguely.

The Doctor laced the fingers of one hand through hers and placed a slow, tender kiss on her forehead.  She really was so very tired, but there was a stinging feeling creeping behind her eyes and in the back of her throat that she couldn’t quite suppress.

“I’m sorry,” she choked out, more a strangled breath than with any voice.

The Doctor tilted his face lower to kiss the bridge of her nose.  “Don’t be daft,” he grumbled fondly.

River swallowed and squeezed his hand.  “Do you think you could…”

“Of course, honey.”

He always used to talk her ear off when she was trying to settle back into her skin, rambling on about the good things, about the stars they’d travel to together and all the mad, miraculous things they’d see along the way.  Or just listing off every little quirk of hers that he adored until she had to kiss him quiet.

He slipped his hand out of hers and shifted both arms around her, hugging her tight against him.  She felt warm all over.

“Let’s see,” he said thoughtfully, kissing her hair.  “Oh.  Want to know a secret?”

“What,” she mumbled hoarsely into his chest, “you’ve got any of those left?” 

“Just a few.” 

She hummed in response.

“I’ve been dreaming of you almost every night, pretty much since we got here.”

“That’s sweet, honey,” she drawled sleepily, “but doesn’t sound like much of a secret.”

She _sensed_ that familiar, pleased buzz of energy in the pause that followed, the one that said he was savouring the punch line.

“People have always been able to time travel in dreams, you see.  ‘Specially those who know what they’re about when it comes to time travel.”

Her brows furrowed, and with a great effort she cracked an eye open to look up at him in the dim starlight.

Yep, that was the face.

“What are you getting at?”

“It’s you.  It’s actually you, honey.  I visit you all the time.” 

She was too tired for this.  “You what?  Visit me where, when?  What, am I in Stormcage again?”

His pleased little smile died quickly.  “I’m… afraid it’s worse than that.  It’s after.  It’s in between.  When you’re… gone, but not gone.”

“Oh.”

“Sorry.”  He dragged his hand over his face as he cringed.  “I guess I was only focussing on the one bit.”

“No, I— I was just confused.  That’s…” she sighed, and finally felt a hint of a smile tugging at her lips.  “Well, it’s something.”

“It’s not for the whole time,” the Doctor said quietly, pain evident in his voice.  “But at least… yeah, it’s something.”

She was feeling a little more awake now after the very rapid roller coaster that had been the start of this conversation.  “So… what do we do, in these dreams?”

He smiled down at her.  “Um, mostly this, actually." 

“What, pillow talk?” 

He laughed softly.  “Yeah.”

“Which suggests that there _are_ pillows.”

“Frequently, yes,” he responded, one side of his mouth quirking up into a knowing smirk.

“So then, how... corporeal are we talking, here?”

“I see how it is, Song.  I’m trying to tell you we’ve defied reality to see each other across space and time, life and death, and you just want to be sure we’ll be able to psychically shag?”

“Yep.  So?”

“Well, yeah, obviously.”

She giggled into his chest.  “Oh, well, that _is_ something.”

The Doctor kissed her head again, squeezing her tight.  “God, River, I fucking love you,” he sighed.  “I’m sorry this is so hard.”

“Now that is not something you should ever apologise for, sweetie,” she purred.

 _“Really?”_ he scoffed incredulously, and she could hear his exasperated smile. 

“You’re cheering me up, remember?  No getting maudlin now.  Get on with the cheering.” 

“Right, right,” he said, smiling and shaking his head.  “As you command, my dear.” 

“Oh, now _there’s_ an idea.”

“Yeah?” his voice was a low, promising growl.  “Well, awaiting orders, then.”

“Mmm… too tired to give orders,” River said, stretching one arm and yawning.  “That involves decision-making.  It’s your turn.”

“As you wish, wife who is definitely not giving me orders.”

“Don’t be cheeky.” 

“You really can’t stop, can you?”

She meant to glare at him, but they were both wearing matching grins. 

“Okay,” the Doctor said, slipping his arm out from under her and shifting over her on his hands and knees.  River gazed up at him, at the smile on his lips that was somehow soft and positively wicked at once and the sparkle in his eyes, and felt the heat of anticipation blooming in her belly. 

“Clothes off now, dear,” he said, leaning in close so his warm breath fanned over her neck, making her shiver.  She hurried to comply, wiggling out of her knickers and pulling her t-shirt over her head, tossing it away.  He reached a hand around her back to unclasp her bra, and she carelessly added it to the mess now covering the bedroom floor. 

“And a little help with mine, please,” he said, before latching his lips on to the juncture of her shoulder and her neck, making her gasp and squirm.  River pushed his pants over his hips and down his thighs, and he lifted one knee at a time while she dragged them down over his calves with her foot.

“That’s better,” he sighed, crouching lower, his warm skin sliding over hers, hips rolling almost imperceptibly as his erection pressed into her thigh.

River moaned and arched up into him, threading her fingers into his hair.  His lips travelled slowly from her throat to her cheek, until finally they met hers in a deep, heated kiss.

She felt the Doctor’s weight shift onto one elbow as his other hand roamed over her body, first lightly kneading her shoulder, then spreading his palm over her breast and rolling the nipple gently between his fingers.  The slow rhythm of his tongue fell into time with the press of his hips. 

His hand trailed down over her stomach, fingers circling the curve of her hip lightly before dipping lower.  River whimpered into his mouth, sucking in a breath through her nose.  She gave herself over to the slow, heady slide of his lips and his tongue; a hot, melting sensation trickling down her spine as her head spun with him.  His fingers slipped through the wet heat between her thighs, circling in just the right rhythm to send waves of warmth tingling through her, burning down to the soles of her feet.  

Finally, slowly, he pulled back and pressed a last sweet, lingering kiss to her lips.  River gasped and panted as her eyes fluttered open, immediately locking onto his gaze.

“Feel okay?” he rasped, his fingertips still swiping rhythmically over her soft flesh, making her tremble.

She let out an incoherent moan of pleasure, her eyes drifting shut again as her head lolled to the side.

“Hey,” the Doctor said softly, “stay with me.  Eyes up here.” 

She moved quickly to obey, forcing her eyes open and letting herself get lost again in the glittering blue of his irises, a thin ring around wide, dark pupils.  Love and need were written all over his beautiful, solemn face. 

Then he rose up on his knees in front of her, withdrawing his hand with a last firm brush over her clit that made her gasp.  He slid his hands under her knees and guided her ankles up to his shoulders. 

“Look at me,” he instructed her again, and River nodded, eyes locked on his as he leaned back over her.  Her legs shifted as he drew closer until her knees were hooked over his shoulders, leaving her pinned, wide open to him, his face hovering above hers.  He shifted until they slid into alignment, and then he sank into her.

River’s mouth dropped open and her brows drew together as she took a gulp of air, not letting her eyes stray from his.  Intense concentration warred with the haze of pleasure on his face as he slowly, slowly pulled back, then, just as slowly, pushed into her again.  The angle allowed her to take him blissfully deep, and each time he reached that perfect spot inside her he strained and pressed his body firmly to hers as he circled his hips against her.

The Doctor set their rhythm, if she could call it that: deliberately, agonisingly, deliciously slow.  His abdomen ground against her clit and sweet, aching ripples of pleasure stirred deep inside her with his every tightly-controlled movement.  Every time she felt him tense and tremble and thought he would give in and speed up, he only furrowed his brows, focussed entirely on her face, and held his pace.  Ah, this was going to be one of those times.  The heat building between them was both wonderful and unbearable; she wanted him to quit messing about and fuck her already, but she also wanted him to keep staring into her eyes and slowly melting her insides and make this torturous slow intensity last forever.

“Oh, god, sweetie,” she panted, tangling her hands in his hair, desperately fighting the urge to throw her head back and squeeze her eyes shut and writhe in the sheets. 

“Stay with me, River,” he rumbled, his shoulders taut with tense concentration, as he withdrew almost completely and then slid slowly into her again.

She didn’t remember either of them intentionally reaching out to form the mental link, but in moments like this, with every sense heightened and trained on each other, it seemed to spread organically between them, a natural part of coming wholly together.  Sometimes she wondered, too, if there weren’t some time perception shift at play; if moving so slowly were truly stretching each moment out, or if it only felt that way.  She was losing track of everything she felt, anyway, except for _good_ and overwhelmed and so utterly, madly in love with this wonderful man who was currently torturing her with pleasure.

The Doctor’s breathing was growing ragged, and River heard the pause in his breath as he swallowed visibly.  Staring unwaveringly into his eyes, she couldn’t help noticing when they became a bit more shiny and bright, and he blinked quickly and sniffed, the corners of his lips turning up into a soft smile.  There was no need for words; she only smiled back at him as tears pricked her own eyes. 

 _There—_ she gasped and barely stopped herself from letting her eyes drift shut.  He drew back and slid slowly into her again, and the heat was truly building now, in spite of his excruciatingly slow pace.  But if he would _just_ — she groaned and clenched down around him, squeezing her muscles as tight as she could, trying to push them over that last bit of distance—

“Don’t do that,” he scolded, low and rough.  “Be patient.”

River whimpered in frustration as she slowly relaxed, glaring silently up at him.  He just raised an eyebrow in challenge, still panting with effort as he moved.  She’d put him in charge, but she _did_ have her limits, and ordering her about in that voice was _not_ helping her to feel patient, which he damn well knew. 

The Doctor smirked at her, and leaned in to give her a soft, searching kiss.  She relished shutting her eyes for a moment and just _feeling_ , and oh, however stubbornly slowly he was moving in her, there was no stopping it now.

He pulled back from their kiss, gasping for air, fixing his eyes on hers again.  River’s legs trembled, desperate for just a _little_ more speed or pressure, as that normally-brief moment of teetering on the edge dragged on and on and on until she was gasping and begging and they were both struggling to keep their eyes open.

There was nothing sudden about it: the Doctor began to groan and shake from head to toe even as he kept moving in her, and the slow, slow bloom of pleasure built and spread and grew to a crescendo until it was rolling and rippling through her body, and each time she thought she’d reached the peak it somehow took her higher still.  The Doctor’s front half had already collapsed on top of her, his mouth hot against her neck, but he was still stubbornly, slowly rocking his hips, and another wave tumbled over her every time he moved. 

It couldn’t have been more than a minute or so, but it felt like an eternity.  Finally they both fell still and the Doctor rolled to the side so she could lower her legs to the bed.  She didn't think they'd be working any time soon.  His shaking hands reached up to cup her face as he lay on his side, and she rolled over to face him properly.  They exchanged soft, messy kisses, delirious with bliss.

“Is it that good in the dreams?” River asked, when her voice would hold.

The Doctor kissed her cheek and grinned.  “I don’t need to be real to rock your world, sweetheart.”

 

 


End file.
